The Fall of the Future
by AlreadyPainfullyGone
Summary: Continuation of "Looking back at what we've become" What happened between Castiel and Dean the night Sam said yes. AU not related to 'The End' Universe. Here Sam says yes and the battle with michael happens, so the world ends. Fun :


Future Cas – The Last Day

The motel was the same. Cas didn't say anything, by this time it didn't seem important. Only a few months ago this was the site of the overlap. Since then the other interchangeable rooms had blurred the place in Dean's memory. Castiel remembered it clearly. The Impala would no longer be parked outside though, they'd lost it on the journey here. Walking down the lonely stretch of road with the town burning at their backs.

Sam was lost, gone. Not dead, Lucifer would not allow it. But Sam was not with them and it made a greater difference than his death would have. Dean was exhausted. Bloodied and caked with dust from the fight that had ended with the burning town. The trek to the motel wasn't improving his condition.

Castiel was lost in thought and the silence didn't seem to bother the hunter. Unable to forget the apocalypse that loomed over them, the betrayals that had been heaped over him and how far he had fallen since his battle to regain Dean's soul. Too much too fast.

They found the place abandoned, reclaiming the room the brothers had occupied before. Dean dropped onto one of the beds. From his bag he produced a bottle of whisky. Ignoring Castiel completely he set about drinking his last night away.

For a long time Castiel just watched. Dean made no attempt to speak or acknowledge him. By the time he was three quarters of the way through the bottle he was insensible to the dip of the thin mattress beside him. Castiel sat quietly, waiting for him to finish. With a few final desperate gulps the bottle was emptied, Dean let it fall to the floor.

The first thing he felt, the first thing since that last demon had broken his nose, was Cas's hand on his shoulder. It was a comfort, or intended to be. A dry brush of contact in a dry room miles from anything remotely connected to him. Dean felt nothing. Turning to look the angel in the face he met his level concerned gaze. There was a brief moment of...not connection, but understanding. The only man Dean wanted near him was Sam. The only comfort he could accept would come from his brother. If Sam was gone, so was reassurance.

Dean let his eyes slide away from Cas long enough to remember that the whisky was gone. When he next looked back the angel was gone. Stretching out on the bed Dean ignored the sagging of the cheap springs and closed his eyes against the room, the town and the world.

He must have slept because otherwise he would have heard the door open. As it was his eyes opened to the sight of Castiel standing at the foot of the bed. A dour woman with dark hair and a blood stained black suit stood next to him.

"Cas?" Dean struggled upright, the alcohol spiking through his veins made his head feel heavy, slow. Casting a quick glance at the woman the man shook his head.

"No, it's me, Jimmy. Cas is..."

"I've moved." The woman laid a hand on Jimmy's arm. "Take the room next door, the night's yours."

Dean frowned. The last night, what was the poor guy gonna do? Though after a year of being tied to Cas's grace and dragged around through hell and back Jimmy was probably lucky to get one night to sleep and dream of something other than the end. The vessel left the room with an awkward glance at Dean.

"And the change of clothes is for what?" Dean fixed Cas with a questioning look. "Novelty in the face of death?" Dimly a memory stirred in his mind. He'd seen this woman before, this was Cas's future vessel, the one that had visited him.

Cas sank onto the mattress and sat, ramrod straight, facing him.

"This is better." British accent but still rough, Dean remembered it but not the details of the episode. Too much horror in between, too much alcohol on the brain.

"For?" Dean had moved closer, trying not to notice the blood on her shirt, trying not to think of the dead woman's last moments.

"You need..." Cas faltered. Dean didn't blame him...her? At this point there was so much he needed it was just too hard to fill the void.

"You just need."

Dean closes the gap between them and brings their mouths together briefly. It's a dry pressure and over quickly. So much desperation thickens the air, though whose is hard to determine. He tries again and this time he catches on something. The taste or the feeling of the mouth that Castiel has stolen for him. The kiss deepens. Dean's hands find their way to Cas's waist and haul his body, for Cas will always be a he to Dean, closer.

The sounds they make are loud in the empty room. Short gasps between exteneded, absorbed silences as skin works on skin. The dry brushing of clothing being pushed at, skin being uncovered. Still just kissing, Cas's legs around his waist and the skirt of the bloody suit pushed way up. Dean's mouth falls to Cas's throat and then downwards, ardently mouthing the skin. He drops his lips beneath the collar of the shirt. Cas's moan catches and he grinds down on Dean, eliciting an answering groan.

The whisky does its job, dulling Dean to any sobering realisations that this is Castiel. Male, lost, powerful Castiel. He rips open the woman's bloody shirt, shoves the skirt as far as it will go. The stockings underneath are shredded, one shoe discarded on the floor. It's only as he thrusts, meeting hot pliant flesh and slipping inside that he looks into her eyes.

It's pure Cas looking back. Surprised and perhaps a little stunned but ultimately lost to it. Pupils blown wide and glazed with newly acquired lust. Dean can't help it, he grinds, thrusting further inside. Cas throws his head back and lets loose a guttural moan.

Dean looses it.

It's a blur to him after that. Cas's cries, curses and moans slide into his lust soaked brain. Hands grip his shoulders and rake across his back as he thrusts quicker, his easy rhythm faltering with each touch Cas lays on him. It's almost too much, the combined innocence and want in those touches.

At last his pace quickens and he can feel himself getting close. Cas's groans have given way to hoarse cries in a language Dean dosen't understand. Teeth graze his throat, finding the pulse and biting lightly. Just as he feels his release over take him, Cas's muscles tense and with a final shout of what might be his name a hand covers his eyes.

A Shrill, painfully penetrating sound hit's his ears and a white hot light licks at his skin. Under the terrible sound of Castiel's true voice he hears glass breaking. The hand falls from his eyes and slips bonelessly to the bed.

Beneath him, lying on the thin mattress and drenched in sweat, Cas looks stoned. Still not completely back to himself. Dean manages to slip out of her before collapsing on the bed. Wrapped around her still form he feels a hand run over his face, through his hair. That's when he falls asleep.

He wakes to feel a shift in the weight on the mattress. Jimmy is lying on the other side of the bed. With Castiel lying between them the two men look at each other. Dean's too tired to care. Besides, who would kick the guy out? For all they know it's just the three of them left.

When he next wakes it's morning. Jimmy is gone, probably the source of movement in the kitchenette. Cas wakes a few moments after he does. She's lying face down, half on top of him. Her eyes open and she jerks upwards, away from him. Dean isn't sure what he sees in her eyes, but it looks like fear, or maybe just shock. Belatedly Dean realises how important last night was. Cas's first time. They're first time. He tugs her down for a kiss and tries to force as much reassurance into it as possible.

Cas seems to calm down. Enough at least to dress with him and pack their weapons. There isn't time for anything else. It's too late.

The world's already ending.


End file.
